How I Became Lightning - The Autobiography of Lightning McQueen
by CarsWorldFan
Summary: The title says it all! This story describes Lightning's life from his perspective, from before he started racing, to the present. Please note that this story is completely separate from the other Cars stories that I've written. Will contain scenes based on all three movies, as well as coarse language and sexual themes.
1. Chapter 1 - Forward

**Author's note:** I've decided to write this story as a completely separate entity to my other Cars stories, so I could keep Doc alive (because I miss writing about him and his friendship with Lightning). Therefore, after doing some fandom research, I have also decided to make some alterations to the way I've interpreted the World of Cars. While there will be some events based on ones that I've already written about in my other Cars stories, most of the events in this story will be completely new and/or based on events that occurred in the movies.

Here are some changes that I've made:

**Reproduction: **

In this story, all vehicles can reproduce. For cars, their sexual organs are contained inside them and, like cetaceans, they have a genital slit. The genital slit is located between their rear bumper and their rear axle. The only way they can copulate is by having one car lying on their roof, while they other climbs on top, with their undersides touching each other. Obviously, size differences between vehicles can sometimes make things difficult, so they prefer to try and marry a vehicle that's a similar size to themselves.

Cars are very sensitive about their undercarriage. It is their most private area, mainly because they like to hide their genital slit. The exhaust system is also considered a private part, because it is extremely sensitive to touch. Cars like to stimulate their partners by touching and/or blowing on their exhaust pipe/s. Females are more likely to play with their male partner's exhaust pipe/s, because it triggers their sex drive and gives them an erection (whether they want to have one or not!). Therefore, females tend to be more dominant in bed than males.

Female cars have two small teats located just in front of their genital slit. When the female is about to give birth, she will start producing baby old for her baby to feed on. Baby cars are weaned once they grow large enough to no longer be able to crawl beneath their mother (usually at about six to eight months).

Male cars have penis's that retract inside themselves through their genital slit. The average length is about a meter for a medium-sized car. Obviously, the larger the vehicle, the longer and thicker his penis will be.

While all cars have slightly flexible 'skin' (metal body), baby cars are born with a very soft skin; similar to copper. Babies are born with completely bare metal, and they usually don't receive their first paint job until they start crawling. They are also born with very soft tyres that have a similar consistency to balloons, so they are completely useless for driving on. Baby cars don't start learning how to drive until they are at least a year old.

**Food, Fuel and Digestion: **

Cars are able to eat normal food, along with fuel and oil, because they have an organic stomach, which attaches to their fuel tank. Everything they consume through their mouth goes into their stomach, which is broken down into liquid. The liquid then moves into the fuel tank, where it is blended with fuel that is injected through cars via their filler pipe (ie, how we normal refuel cars). This processed fuel is fed into the engine, where it is burned up. Any excess and gasses are expelled through the exhaust. Also, when cars urinate, they expel excess oil and/or water.

If a car ingests something it shouldn't (like the wrong type of fuel), it will either vomit if the foreign substance has only entered its organic stomach. If the foreign substance is ingested into its fuel tank, the only way to remove it is by flushing out the car's system. That is a very unpleasant experience, so they will only have fuel and other substances injected through their fuel filler pipe if it's absolutely essential. Race cars are more used to being refuelled via their fuel filler pipe, since that's the only way their tank can be filled up quickly.

**Aging: **

Cars have an average lifespan of 150 years, although a few cars have reached 200 years of age. The lifespan for other vehicles will vary, depending on what they are. For example, aircraft have a much shorter lifespan of about 80 years. When cars die, they are either buried or cremated. Most cars prefer to be cremated, because then their families are able to make mementoes from their melted metal. Morbid, I know, but we like to take a bit of hair or fur from our loved ones and pets after they die. Mourning jewellery can still be found, especially for pets that have passed.

Because cars can live for so long, they normally aren't in a rush to get married. It's not uncommon to hear of cars being boyfriend and girlfriend for up to twenty years. Because of this, a lot of cars are born out of wedlock. But even if a couple does decide to wait until they are married before they have kids, there's still no rush to have them, because cars remain fertile up until about the age of 100.

**Injuries and sickness: **

Vehicles in the Cars' world are made up of both organic and metal parts. Organic parts include: the brain, eyes, reproductive organs, lungs, mouth (including teeth, tongue, tonsils and oesophagus), and the stomach. Their engine, fuel tank, exhaust system, wheels etc. are all metal. Therefore, doctors and nurses have to be trained in mechanics as well.

Cars can suffer from similar ailments to us, like colds and the flu, but they can also suffer from mechanical failures. Injections can be given either through the fuel filler pipe, or through an oil line located in any one of their wheel wells. If a car's windshield gets broken or damaged, they become blind.

**Miscellaneous: **

All vehicles are either left or right wheel dominant. Whichever side is their dominant side will be the side that contains a thin, flexible metal arm that is mostly kept concealed inside their wheel hub centre cap. This arm has a claw on the end that enables vehicles to pick up and carry things that they would be unable to carry otherwise. It also enables them to write, draw and use computers. Because this part is so fragile, forklifts are often employed to undertake heavy lifting tasks. Of course, vehicles like Mater prefer to use their tow hook instead of their arm to carry and pick up things.

**Acknowledgement:** I'd like to extend a huge amount of thanks to IrishScottDragonGirl for allowing me to borrow and/or expand on some of her ideas about the Cars World. If you haven't read any of her stories yet, I 110% recommend it! She's a brilliant and talented writer in this fandom, while also being an amazing friend.

* * *

Forward

_Ka-chow! _

Yeah, it's me. Lightning McQueen. Seven-time Piston Cup Champion, and movie star. What? You didn't know about the movie star bit? Well, I am. You see, beck in 2006, when I was in my rookie year, a film studio called Pixcar approached me with the idea of doing a documentary on me, since I was likely to become the first rookie ever to win the Piston Cup. But things kinda didn't go the way we'd planned. Those of you who've seen the first movie will know what happened to me.

But I'm getting ahead of myself here. I tend to do that a lot. Honestly, if my engine were as fast as my brain, I probably wouldn't be doing NASCAR. I'd probably… You know what? I can't think of any other type of racing that I could do that's faster than NASCAR. Except for Formula One. But I'm not an open wheeler, so I can't do that anyway.

And, I'm doing it again. Okay, let me go right back to the beginning and re-introduce myself. Wanna know a big secret? My real name isn't Lightning. I kinda wish it was, but as far as I know, my parents weren't hippies. My real, full name is actually Montgomery Alexander McQueen. Kinda corny, I know, which is why I changed it. I don't know why my mother chose that name for me, but I suppose it had something to do with one of my ancestors. You know how old-fashioned names can be passed down through the family until nearly everyone has the same name? I think that's what happened with me. But I'll get to that again later.

Most of my fans already know that I was born on June 9, 1988. I can already hear the Next Gen cars groaning and thinking that I'm now going to start talking about the 'good old days'. And they're right! Those of us who were born in Gen Y will understand what I'm talking about. We got to see all kinds of technology introduced to us, like DVDs, cell phones and the discman. If anyone ever figured out how to carry a discman on their hood without dropping it as soon as you braked, please contact me. I know it'd be an awesome sight to behold! I've seen old Doc balance three glasses of beer on his hood and still manage to drive around corners, so I'd like to see him try to carry a discman. I think I'll ask him to give it a go at our next post-race party. If I can find one, that is…

Oh, you mean to say that you didn't know that Doc was still alive? Well, he is, and he's still my mentor, crew chief, doctor, surrogate father and best friend. Yeah, I know that Mater keeps insisting that he's my best friend, but I can have more than one, can't I? Besides, sometimes I need Doc to keep Mater away from me to prevent me from going insane.

Anyway, going back to my role as a movie star. The first movie proved to be such a hit at the box office, that the producers decided that they wanted to do a sequel. That didn't go down quite as well. You see, instead of creating a documentary style of movie, this time they created their own plot. In hindsight, I know I should've refused to be in it like Doc did, but since Mater had a starring role, he was almost down on his axles begging me to do it with him. So, I did, but I can't say I enjoyed it. Did the producers really think that almost killing me would go down well with the audience? Actually, in their first draft of the script, they really did kill me off, but that upset Mater too much, so they changed it. I think they also realised that by killing me off, there'd be no hope for a third movie about me. I still have mixed feelings about doing that one, because it was a bit ambiguous at the end as to whether I decided to keep racing or not.

The truth is, I am still racing in the Piston Cup, and I'm currently on track to winning my eighth Piston Cup. Get it? On track. That's where I race and… Oh, never mind then! I found it funny. As I stated earlier, Doc is still alive and well. In fact, I can just see him out of my office window now. He's over at Flo's, gasbagging with Sherriff. The directors of the second movie decided to fictionally kill him off after he outright refused to be in any more of them. What was it with their obsession with killing off all the good guys? Why couldn't they have blown up Miles Axlerod at the end, like they were going to do with Mater?

Whoops, I'm starting to rant now, aren't I? How's Sally? I can hear you asking. Well, as the third movie depicts, we are still boyfriend and girlfriend. I know, I know! We've been together for thirteen years now, but we still have no plans to marry anytime soon. I know the other actors in the third movie kept calling me 'old' (it was scripted), but the reality is that, although I'm thirty-one years old, I've still got another twenty or thirty years of racing left in me. Heck, sometimes Doc even competes in veteran's races for charity, and he's pushing ninety!

Now that all of that is cleared up, I think it's time for me to start telling my story right from as far back as I can remember. There are a few incidents that are a bit hazy to me now due to the number of concussions I've had while racing, but I'll do my best to remember as much as I can. So, grab a drink, find a quiet corner to park in, and get ready to enjoy the best ride of your life!

This is the true story about how I became Lightning…

_Monty 'Lightning' McQueen _


	2. Chapter 2 - Runaway

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Pixar. All OCs belong to me. **

Chapter 1 - Runaway

I never knew who my parents were. I was placed in State care almost immediately after I was born. Due to privacy laws, I haven't been told much about my parents. All I know is that, shortly after I was born, my mother drove out of the hospital and left me there. She'd checked in to give birth to me under the name 'Miss McQueen'. She refused to tell anyone her given names, so nobody was able to find out anything about her. Before she'd left, she'd told the midwife caring for her that she wanted me to be named Montgomery Alexander. Since nobody had any idea who my father was, I was given my mother's surname. It's assumed that, because my mother was only about sixteen years old at the time of my birth, I was either the result of a forbidden underage romance, or rape. I've never been sure of which one is worse.

By the time I turned fourteen, I'd already been in ten different foster homes. Most of my foster parents didn't really care about me. They were only in it for selfish reasons, like the money, or the government perks, or to make them look good in front of their peers. I grew up knowing that I was unloved and unwanted. As a result, I took my frustration out on everything and everyone. I was rebellious before I'd even reached puberty. My record included truancy from school, being suspended twice for fighting, and being expelled once for spitting as a school security guard. In hindsight, it's difficult to blame me for my bad behaviour back then. I'd been shown very little love in my childhood, and very few of my foster parents chose to punish me. I really had very little concept between right and wrong.

And so, shortly after I turned fourteen, I found myself living out on the streets. I'd run away from my last foster home a few days earlier, because my foster dad had beaten me up for back-chatting. The city streets of Chicago, Illinois are not friendly to homeless vehicles, even today. However, it was at this point that my story truly begins.

I remember that cold, wet evening as I huddled underneath a large piece of cardboard in a dark alleyway, trying to stay dry as a storm passed by overhead. At my age, most homeless cars would be scared and worried about their future, but I'd become so hardened to my own feelings, let alone the feelings of others, that I had no idea what fear felt like anymore. All of my energy was now focussed on survival. I was still nursing a few wounds from my foster father's beating, and I knew from my mild fever that at least two of my cuts were infected. There was nothing I could do about them though. I had no money to pay for any medical care, and I didn't want to ask a complete stranger for help. So, I chose to ignore the pain and fever. I found that it was just easier to pretend that I was fine. Besides, I was terrified of doctors. When I was six years old, a team of doctors and nurses had strapped and pinned me down to draw some oil from me for testing. They'd only pinned me down because I refused to keep still for the needle. From that moment on, I'd lost my trust in doctors.

I was somewhat lucky though. I'd already made friends with two other homeless cars. Simon was an eighteen-year-old dark grey Buick Grand National GNX, while Murphy was a fifteen-year-old yellow Toyota W10 MR2. I got along with Murphy the best, since he'd also escaped from a bad foster home. Together, they were teaching me the fine art of street survival. Luckily, I was a fast learner. I'd already learned which areas were safe from rival gangs, and how to avoid standing out. Blending in was essential to avoid being noticed by the authorities. Considering I was rather small for my age, having friends who were bigger and older than me helped me feel safe, and I stood out less whenever I was with them.

As the storm moved on, I peeked out from beneath my flimsy piece of cardboard just in time to see a bolt of lightning race across the sky. It struck the lightning rod of a nearby high-rise tower, creating a magnificent spectacle. I shrugged the cardboard off before I drove out of the alleyway. As I drove past a nearby shopfront, I glanced at myself in the window's refection. My paintwork was as dull and as black as my mood. I liked how good matte black looked on me though.

With a resigned sigh, I drove down the street to the square where I'd agreed to meet up with Simon and Murphy once the storm had passed. A light rain was still falling, making the road sparkle from reflected streetlights. I shivered as I approached my friends.

"You look cold, Monty," Simon observed.

"Just a bit," I replied.

Using his claw arm, Murphy reached back to his trunk, and he took out a couple of dollar bills and some coins. Simon did the same. Unlike most cars, I didn't have a trunk to carry things in. I really wish I did, because I had no way of carrying anything.

"How much did we steal today?" Murphy asked as Simon counted the money.

"Only a few bucks. It'd really help if Monty could steal some too."

"We could always use his cuteness to distract someone, while I pinch their trunk," Murphy suggested with a shrug.

"I'd be happy to do that," I agreed. "It's only fair, since you're taking care of me."

"I'll think about it," Simon said, as he placed the money back in his trunk. He looked around, distracted. Murphy and I followed his gaze. He was staring at a nearby Italian restaurant. Out in front, under and awning, a couple finished dining, leaving their half-eaten food on the plates, along with a couple of cans of oil.

As soon as the couple had driven around a corner, Simon took off towards the table. Realising what Simon was going to do, Murphy and I followed him. Together, the three of us raided the table, stuffing the left-over food in our mouths. I managed to grab one of the cans of oil, and I drained what was left in it.

"Hey!" one of the waiters shouted from inside the restaurant. "Hey, you kids!"

Simon, Murphy and I snatched up what was left of the food with our claw arms, and we took off as fast as we could safely go in the wet. The waiter chased us until the end of the block before he gave up.

A few minutes later, my friends and I darted into an alleyway, where we finally stopped running. After we'd caught our breaths, we devoured the remainder of the food.

"Well, at least we got something to eat tonight," Murphy said as he licked his claw.

"Now what are we going to do?" I wondered.

Simon responded by tossing a few cans of spray paint down in front of us. "It's time for us to go to work. We'll just wait until it gets a little bit darker, and then we'll start."

"What area do you want to hit tonight?" Murphy asked.

"The railroad yard," Simon replied. "I've always wanted to tag sleeping locomotives. I spotted a hole in the security fence earlier today, so it shouldn't be difficult for us to get in there."

"Sweet!" I said, trying to sound cool. As part of my education into street life, Simon had been teaching me how to paint his signature tag. Since he was our leader, Murphy and I were happy to use his tag instead of our own.

As darkness settled in, the streets slowly became quieter and less congested. Unfortunately, the rain became heavier, which only made me shiver more. I knew that my fever was getting worse instead of better, but I needed to tough it out. A sick homeless car was extremely vulnerable to gangland thugs. I needed to remain alert and keep my wits about me.

The clock from a nearby building struck ten times before Simon, Murphy and I ventured out towards the railroad yard a few blocks away. While some locomotives worked well into the night, most of them had settled down to sleep one in front of the other in the railroad yard. For their safety, the railroad yard was fenced off with a high security fence.

To get to the railroad yard, we had to drive down a grassy slope. Most railroad workers would access the railroad yard by driving down a concrete path that accessed the main road, but we had to remain out of sight from the night security guards. Simon lead the way over to the hole in the security fence, and he held it up with his tyre while Murphy and I drove through it.

Once the three of us were inside the railroad yard, we got to work. It wasn't easy for us to sneak about, since we'd all be born with powerful engines (although Simon had undergone some modifications to make his even louder than it had been), but we could be quiet if we concentrated hard.

I snuck up on a sleeping Amtrak GE Genesis locomotive. He was snoring softly, so I did my best to only spray paint on him when he snored, to help mask the sound of the spray. The spray paint must have tickled him a bit, because he instinctively wriggled, but he didn't wake up.

After I'd finished tagging the first locomotive, I turned on my headlights, so I could find Simon and Murphy. I could no longer hear either of them driving around, or the hiss from their spray cans.

"Murphy?" I whispered nervously. "Simon?"

Silence answered me. Then, the floodlights were turned on, filling the entire railroad yard with blinding light. I squinted just as I heard Murphy shout, "Monty! Cops! Run!"

Confused, I hesitated for a moment. Then, I heard approaching sirens and shouting. I dropped the spray can and floored it. My wheels sent up a spray of ballast as I accelerated towards the hole in the fence. I was still half-blinded by the floodlights, so I almost missed the hole. I had to brake sharply, which caused me to skid and send up another spray of ballast. The sounds of my panicked escape had caught the attention of the police officers, and I could hear one of them approaching me.

"Stop, or I'll shoot!"

I drove through the hole in the fence, but I ended up scratching my paint on some of the wire. A shot rang out. I felt the breeze from the flying bullet pass just over my rear window. Terrified, I accelerated away up the grassy hillside. However, because it was still raining, I found it difficult to gain traction. I spent a lot of fuel and energy trying to get to the top of the slope. I could hear the police officer gaining on me, and that made me push my engine into the red for the very first time in my life.

Finally, I reached the top of the hillside. However, I didn't have time to catch my breath, because the police officer was right behind me now. He was a Dodge Ram, so it's hardly surprising he was able to catch up to me so easily. Unfortunately, I was still half-blinded from the floodlights, and now that I was in the dark again, my eyes hadn't had a chance to re-adjust to the change. I accelerated towards the road. I knew that once I'd reached it, I would stand a better chance of getting away.

Something large loomed in front of me. Before I could work out what it was, I slammed straight into it. The object turned out to be a Chevrolet Suburban police officer. He'd been prepared for me, and due to my small size, I came off second best. The impact sent me sprawling backwards on my chassis, with all four of my wheels spread-eagle. Before I had a chance to gather my wits, both police officers were on top off me. The Dodge Ram pinned me down with his front wheels, while the Chevrolet Suburban secured my rear wheels with parking boots. All the while, I squirmed and kicked, trying desperately to break free from them both.

"Calm down, kid!" the Dodge Ram ordered. He was finding it harder to keep hold of me.

"Just shut the f*** up and get off me!" I shouted. I continued wriggling, trying desperately hard to get away.

"I'll let you get up once you quit struggling."

Nothing was said for a few more minutes. The police officers both kept me pinned down, while they waited for me to stop struggling. Finally, I'd exhausted myself and I gave up. Feeling me relax, the police officers cautiously eased their weight off me.

"Sergeant," the Chevrolet Suburban said into his radio. "We've caught one of the kids outside the railroad yard. Could you send a wagon over here to collect him? He's putting up a decent fight!"

I couldn't make out the reply, but a few minutes later, a police wagon arrived. The police officer who'd chased me finally let me get to my tyres before he spoke to me again.

"I'm arresting you for trespassing onto government property, defacing another vehicle and for resisting arrest. I'll ignore the fact that you swore at me. You've done enough to get you thrown into juvenile detention. You have the right to remain silent until you've spoken with a lawyer, but you are obligated to tell us your full name, address and VIN number. We'll sort that out back at the station."

The SUV police officer practically threw me into the back of the police wagon. I flinched when I heard the door being closed and locked behind me. I knew that I was in more trouble than I'd ever been in before, and this time, I was completely on my own.


	3. Chapter 3 - In Custody

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Pixar. All OCs belong to me. **

Chapter 2 – In Custody

About half an hour later, I found myself inside an interview room at the police station. A Dodge Charger, a different officer to the ones who'd caught me, was parked behind the desk, typing away on his computer. One of the parking boots had been removed from my rear wheels to enable me to move around slowly. Now that the adrenalin had left my system, my fever had flared up again. However, I tried my best not to show any signs of being sick. It wasn't easy though. All I wanted to do now was sleep for a week.

The officer finally turned his attention to me. "Are you ready to talk, kid?"

I nodded slightly.

"Okay. My name is Constable Carlin."

At that moment, there was a soft knock on the door. A white Camry peeked into the room. "You sent for me, Constable?"

"Yes, come in, please."

The Camry entered the room and, after closing the door behind himself, he parked alongside me. "Mr Axle," he said, introducing himself to me. "I've been assigned to you as your Legal Aid lawyer."

I just stared at the desk in front of me, not bothering to even acknowledge his presence.

Constable Carlin looked at me again. "Okay, kid. I need you to tell me your full name, address and VIN number."

I sighed tiredly before I replied. "Montgomery Alexander McQueen. I don't have an address, and I don't know my VIN number."

"That's okay. If you let me look in your engine bay, I'll be able to find it."

I hesitated. I knew that once the police had my VIN number, they'd be able to find out everything about me. However, if I didn't let them obtain it willingly, they'd probably find some way of forcing me to reveal it. Reluctantly, I nodded again.

"Does that nod mean that you're granting me consent to obtain your VIN number from under your hood?" Constable Carlin asked.

"Yes." With a heavy sigh of defeat, I popped my hood. Constable Carlin approached me, and he gently lifted my hood with his claw arm. It didn't take him long to locate my VIN number, stamped inside my engine bay.

"1G9CC4171JC000001," Constable Carlin read aloud. The computer beeped, acknowledging that my VIN number had registered. Constable Carlin gently closed my hood. He gave me a long hard stare. "So, you're a crossbred," he finally said. "It makes sense. I couldn't figure out your model."

"I never knew my parents," I told him with an air of bitterness. "I have no idea what models they are. I don't even know what their names are, or if they're even still alive."

Constable Carlin nodded thoughtfully before he parked behind his desk again. After a couple of clicks on the computer, he brought up my file. "Right, Montgomery. It seems that your foster parents have reported you missing to the Child Protection Services. I'll call them shortly to let them know that you're safe."

"Don't bother. I ran away, and I'm not going back."

Constable Carlin raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh? Why did you run away?"

"My foster father beat me up about a week ago," I admitted tiredly. I just wanted this interrogation to end so I could finally get some sleep. "I knew that nobody would care, so I just left. I am never going back there, and you can't make me."

"That's not up to you to decide," Constable Carlin told me firmly. "We can investigate your claims of physical abuse, but if you're not telling the truth, you'll go back there if the CPS orders it. That's out of my control, I'm afraid. Now, you're facing some pretty serious charges after what happened tonight. I'm going to question you about them now. Legally, you are not obligated to answer any of my questions, but I must warn you that anything you do say may be held in evidence against you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. When did you run away from your foster carers?"

"About four days ago."

Constable Carlin typed my answer into the computer. "Why did you trespass into the railroad yard?"

I shrugged. "For kicks."

"Is that the same reason why you defaced at least one locomotive?"

"Maybe."

"So, you admit that you trespassed onto government property and defaced a locomotive?"

"Yeah."

"You do realise what you're saying, don't you?"

"Of course. I got caught, and I don't deny that I did what I'm charged with."

"Why did you resist arrest if you knew that what you were doing was a crime?"

I shrugged again. "I didn't wanna get caught. But you guys got me, so let's just get this over with. I might be a criminal, but I'm not a liar."

"You're not a criminal unless you're convicted," Mr Axle pointed out. "Right now, you're just a foster kid who's spent a few nights living on the streets."

"Is there anything else you did while you were out on the streets that we don't know about?" Constable Carlin asked me.

"No comment."

Constable Carlin finished typing my answers into the computer. "All right. This is what's going to happen. I'm going to have you placed in a cell for the night, for your own safety, since you're a minor. Tomorrow morning, I'll get in contact with CPS and we'll go from there. What happens to your charges will depend on what CPS decides to do with you. Since this is your first serious offence, I'm sure they'll be lenient with you. Just be prepared to spend some time in juvenile detention or carry out community service."

I was about to roll my eyes when a violent shiver overcame me. It didn't escape Constable Carlin or Mr Axle's notice.

"Are you feeling all right, Montgomery?" Mr Axle asked me anxiously.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, trying to sound more alert than I felt. "Just tired, that's all."

"Well, if you're sure…" Constable Carlin didn't look convinced. However, he didn't press the issue. "Please, come with me."

Constable Carlin escorted me out of the interview room, and down a long, narrow hallway to the cells. He opened an empty cell, gesturing for me to drive inside. As I hobbled through the doorway, Constable Carlin touched my side, silently telling me to stop. I felt him remove the remaining parking boot from my right rear wheel. He gave me a gentle push into the cell before he spoke again.

"I'll go and get the police surgeon to check you out anyway, just to be sure. You seem feverish to me." And with that, he closed the heavy cell door. I heard the key jangle in the lock, followed by an ominous silence.

With a pained whimper, I retreated to the far side of the cell, where I settled down to sleep. Since I was so small, the cell seemed huge. It was only just big enough for a large truck to park inside. There was only one small, barred window in the cell to provide natural light, but it was well out of my reach. I shivered as my fever flared once again. I knew that I was getting worse. I could even taste the pungent flavour of the infection in my throat now. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered to me anymore, except sleep. I closed my weary eyes, and within seconds, I'd drifted off into a deep sleep.

…

When I awoke, it was late the following morning. The first thing I saw was a white forklift parked in front of me.

"Well, it's about time you woke up, kid," the forklift said. "I've been with you for most of last night and this morning."

"Why?" I asked, confused. Looking around, I realised that I was no longer in the horrible police cell. Instead, I was in a room that looked like a small doctor's surgery.

"You've had an infectious fever, caused by a couple of untreated cuts. I've cleaned them up, applied dressings and loaded you up with antibiotics. You should start feeling better by the end of the day."

I continued looking around, confused and feverish. I could feel something sharp sticking into an oil line inside my left wheel well. Realising that it was an I.V. line, my breathing rate increased as I started to panic. I started my engine and I tried to move. When I couldn't, I realised that all four of my wheels were securely clamped to a hydraulic lift.

"Why am I clamped?" I demanded to know. "Let me go!"

"Whoa there, kid! Calm down! You're not going anywhere in a hurry. You're still in police custody."

Upon hearing that, I stopped fighting against my restraints. The events of the night before came flooding back to me and I started to calm down. I closed my eyes and I let out a pained groan.

Someone knocked on the door. "Come in!" the forklift called.

I opened my eyes in time to see Constable Carlin drive into the room. "Hi, Doctor Hans. How's your patient doing now?"

"He's just woken up and had a panic attack."

"A panic attack? Don't you think you'd better sedate him?"

"Nah," Dr Hans replied. "He's too sick to do anything crazy right now. Even if he does try to escape, he won't get very far. He'll just wear himself out."

"Very well then. I'll trust your professional judgement." Constable Carlin drove over to me. "You're to come with me now, Montgomery. The magistrate will hear your case shortly."

"The magistrate?" I repeated nervously.

"Yes. You admitted to the crimes you were charged for last night, so the magistrate has to decide if your case will go to court. This is just a preliminary hearing, so don't stress. Your social worker from CPS is here to represent you."

Dr Hans came around to my left-hand side, and he slowly removed the IV needle. I closed my eyes and hissed as I felt it slowly being removed from my sensitive oil line. A few drops of oil bled out from the hole before Dr Hans sealed it with a tiny rubber patch.

"There you go, kid," he soothed. Dr Hans turned to Constable Carlin. "Make sure he keeps drinking for now. I'll finish writing up his medical report for the magistrate. He should see either myself or another doctor again tonight, depending on what happens to him in there."

Constable Carlin nodded. He secured a parking boot around my front right tyre before Dr Hans released the clamps from my wheels. Neither of them gave me any chance to escape.

A few minutes later, Constable Carlin directed me to park inside a small room near one of the courtrooms that adjoined the police station. Inside, I found my long-term social worker, Adrian Towsky parked at a small table. He said nothing until Constable Carlin had left us alone.

"Nice going, Monty," he grumbled. "I've done my best to keep you out of juvenile detention up until now, but I'm not sure if I can this time."

"I'm sorry, Adrian. I was just doing what I needed to do to survive."

Adrian scoffed. "Graffitiing locomotives and breaking into government property is not doing what you 'needed to do to survive'."

"I was with a gang. I just did what they did. If I didn't…" I let out a long, weary sigh. "I'm so sick of this Adrian!"

"Sick of what?"

"The system! All I want is to be somewhere where I feel accepted. I'm tired of being moved around from foster carer to foster carer like I'm the parcel in a game of pass-the-parcel!"

"I know how you feel. I was in the system when I was your age too, remember? That's why I'm now doing this job. I want to try and make things easier for you kids." He let out his own weary sigh. "Let's just hope this magistrate is sympathetic towards kids like you. I'll do my best for you in there. Just bite your tongue and show remorse. I know you're not a good actor, but if the judge sees that you're genuinely sorry, they should go easy on you. I hope."

Someone knocked on the door. "Come in," Adrian called. A bailiff drove into the room.

"Excuse me, Mr Towsky, but the magistrate is ready for you now."

Adrian gathered up his briefcase, which I knew contained my casefile. "I'll follow you, Monty. Just remember what I said."

I followed the bailiff across the hallway and into the courtroom. Since this was only a hearing, the room was rather empty. I saw a female magistrate, Constable Carlin, the clerk, and a court recorder parked in their respective positions within the room. Only one car was parked in the public gallery. I recognised her. Her name was Renae James, and she was a representative from the CPS. I gulped when I saw her. I assumed that she was there to advise that I be sent straight to juvenile detention.

I parked alongside Adrian, facing the magistrate. The bailiff broke the silence. "All be parked. This is the State vs McQueen. Your Honour, the facts of the case are as follows. Master Montgomery McQueen was arrested last night after he was caught trespassing into a government owned railroad yard. He stands accused of trespassing, defacing at least one vehicle with graffiti, and resisting arrest." The bailiff looked straight at me. "Master McQueen, how do you plead?"

I glanced at Adrian, unsure of what to say. He gave me a reassuring nod before he whispered. "Just say, guilty, Your Honour."

"Guilty, Your Honour," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The magistrate wrote down my reply. Behind me, I heard Renae clear her throat. "Your Honour, may I make a statement for the defendant?"

The magistrate nodded. I watched Renae as she drove over to the witness stand and park.

"Your Honour. My name is Mrs James. I am here to represent the Child Protection Services in this case. Speaking on behalf of the service, we have failed Master McQueen in regards to our duty of care. He stated in his initial police statement that he was physically abused by his current foster father. This isn't the first time a foster child has reported abuse from this particular family. We are now investigating the family concerned, and if the allegations are correct, they will be charged and removed from the foster care system. By now, you should have received a copy of the medical report issued by police surgeon, Doctor Hans."

The bailiff passed the medical report over to the magistrate, who glanced through it. Renae continued.

"As you can see, Doctor Hans treated Master McQueen's injuries inflicted by his foster father, along with the resulting fever. He has advised that Master McQueen should continue receiving treatment for at least the next seven days. This is not something that the CPS can guarantee if he is placed in juvenile detention. Your Honour, in my professional opinion, I think Master McQueen should be placed in a new foster care family interstate. A fresh change might help him get his life back on track before things spiral out of control for him."

The magistrate nodded thoughtfully. "Mr Towsky, as Master McQueen's social worker, do you have any objection to Mrs James's recommendation?"

"None whatsoever, Your Honour," Adrian replied.

My jaw fell open slightly when I realised what Renae was doing. She was trying to get me sent far away from everything I'd ever known. Strangely, I didn't feel any anger or resentment towards her. I'd never left Chicago, so moving interstate sounded like an adventure rather than a punishment.

Constable Carlin cleared his throat. "Your Honour. There's still the matter of the charges that need to be discussed."

"Yes, Constable. I'm well aware of that. Master McQueen? In light of your illness, the fact that this is your first time in court, and the admission from Mrs James that the CPS has let you down, I am going to drop all of the charges against you. However, I want you to consider this a fresh start for you. You're still young enough to make a change for the better, so I strongly encourage you to do so. If you ever find yourself in this position again, I doubt the judge will be as lenient as I am. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Yes, I do, Your Honour," I replied meekly. "And thank you for giving me a second chance. I don't think I deserve it though."

Adrian nudged me, hinting that I'd said enough. The magistrate nodded, indicating that she was happy with my reply. Then, she slammed her gavel down.

"Case dismissed."

I slowly breathed out a sigh of relief. Renae drove over to where Adrian and I were parked.

"It may take us some time to find a new foster carer for Monty," she told Adrian. "So, unfortunately, we'll have to put him into a youth care home temporarily. We can take him there now."

"Good," Adrian replied. He glanced down at me. "Sorry, Monty."

"It's okay," I replied. "I don't really care where I go now, as long as I can sleep in peace. I'm exhausted!"

"You do look a bit unsteady on your tyres," Renae remarked. "Let's go back and see Doctor Hans. I'm sure he'll have something he can give you to help you feel better."

* * *

**AN:** Being an Australian, I'm not very familiar with the protocols involved in the US judicial system, so I apologise if I got anything wrong. I did the best I could with the research I conducted.


	4. Chapter 4 - A New Home

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Pixar. All OCs belong to me. **

Chapter 3 – A New Home

Just over a month later, I found myself locked securely inside a custody cell at the Chicago airport, awaiting my flight. Barely an hour earlier, my social worker, Adrian Towsky had arrived along with two police officers, at the youth care home where I'd been staying ever since my appearance in court. They'd barely let me finish my breakfast before they'd bundled me into a police wagon and taken me away to the airport. They hadn't told me much, except that I was being taken to Florida.

If I was truly honest with myself, I was glad that I'd been taken away so quickly. The youth care home hadn't been that great. It was really just a share house, overseen by two CPS case managers. There had been four other young male cars in the house with me, and I'd had to share a room with a tough streetwise seventeen-year-old yellow Mustang. He was in the youth home because he was waiting for a vacancy to open for him in a rehab centre. During my time there, he'd often snuck outside to smoke whatever drugs he happened to have been able to sneak into the house. The smell of his drugs had made me feel sick during most of my stay there, despite my complaints to the case managers. Overall though, I was decently looked after during my stay. I certainly never wanted for anything. We were all very well-fed, got plenty of sleep and we were also allowed to go for daily supervised drives. The only downside was that we'd all had to wear satellite tracking devices that were attached to our front right-hand tyres. The only way they could be removed was with a special gadget that only the police had access to. I'd found mine uncomfortable at first, but I'd soon become so used to it that by the end of my stay, I'd forgotten that I was even wearing it.

Hearing several approaching engines, I stood up straighter on my tyres. A key jangled in the lock and the cell door swung open. Two police officers entered my cell. Without saying a word, they secured wheel cuffs to each of my front wheels. The cuffs were made of a heavy chain about a yard long, with a powerful magnet attached to each end. The magnets clamped onto the centre of my wheels, ensuring that I could still drive, but be unable to escape. The other ends of the wheel cuffs were secured to each police car's front wheel. Thus, I was secured between them.

Once the wheel cuffs had been secured, the police officers escorted me out into the hallway. Adrian was parked at the reception desk, sorting out the paperwork.

"Adrian…" I whimpered. "Do I have to go by plane?"

"It is the fastest and safest way to get you to Florida," Adrian replied

I was starting to panic. I'd never flown before, so I had no idea what to expect. All I knew about planes was that they sometimes crashed. My fear of heights didn't help now either. I started to shiver as my fight or flight instinct kicked in. Without giving any warning, I accelerated suddenly. My sudden lunge caught the police officers off-guard, but they immediately reacted by locking on their brakes. The wheel cuffs held me securely as I tried to race away from my restraints. However, all I ended up doing was a burnout in the middle of the hallway.

Adrian drove in front of me, and he slammed a tyre down on my hood. "Stop it, Monty!" he shouted. Gulping, I cut my engine. I was still hyperventilating as the smoke from my burnout dissipated.

"I think we'd better have him sedated for the flight," one of the police officers suggested. "If he tries to get away from us on the flight, someone could get hurt."

"Yes, I think you're right," Adrian agreed. He stared at my eyes, but since I was still having a panic attack, I couldn't focus. Adrian turned to the receptionist. "Can you send for a medic, please? Tell him that we have a minor in State care that needs to be sedated."

"No!" I snapped. I revved my engine again. The wheel cuff chains tightened, but they held me fast. "I don't want to be sedated!"

The adults ignored me as I continued to fight against my restraints. A few minutes later, the airport medic arrived. After Adrian had explained the situation to him, I saw him fill a hypodermic syringe out of the corner of my eye.

"No!" I shouted again when I saw the medic start to approach me. I began fighting even harder to try and get away. In fact, I fought so hard that I almost flipped over onto my roof.

"Stop him!" Adrian ordered the police officers. "He's going to hurt himself!"

The police officer on my right raised his front left tyre (the one which was cuffed to me), and he placed it firmly, but gently down on top of my roof. He pressed his weight down on me. It wasn't enough to hurt me, but the force pressed me down onto my chaise, almost winding me. The medic took that opportunity to inject the sedative into one of my oil lines in my rear left wheel-hub.

"Ow!" I yelped when I felt the needle stab me. Tears filled my eyes due to the pain, but I managed to blink them away before anyone saw them.

Once the medic had removed the needle, he drove over to where Adrian was still parked in front of me. They watched me for a moment as I fought against the effects of the sedative. My breathing started to slow, but I remained tense. The police officer pinning me down started to cautiously remove his wheel from my roof. As soon as I could no longer feel his weight on top of me, I leapt to my tyres, and I lunged forwards again. I heard the police officer that had pinned me down cry out in pain.

"Stop, Monty!" Adrian shouted desperately. "Just STOP!"

"LET ME GO!" I screamed as I accelerated yet again.

The medic looked shocked to see that the sedative had had little effect on me. "I think I'd better give him another dose."

"No! No more needles!" I shouted at him as I tried to spin away from him. "Stay away from me!"

The medic ignored me. This time, the police officer on my left pinned me down for the injection. I growled furiously when I felt the needle going into me again. It took a few minutes, but the sedative finally kicked in. I twitched a few times as I tried to fight it. However, I'd completely worn myself out by then, so I no longer had the strength to fight against the sedative. I heard a collective sigh of relief from the adults around me when they saw that I was struggling to stay awake.

"How long will that last?" Adrian asked the medic.

"A few hours. I'm amazed at how well he was able to fight it! He's got enough sedative in him to knock out a small truck! The kid's a fighter, that's for sure! Good luck with him."

"Thanks."

"I think he dislocated my axle," the police officer on my right said.

The medic drove over to him. "Here. Let me take a look."

The police officer released his end of the wheel cuff. When he tried to put weight down on that wheel, he winced. The medic examined his axle.

"Yes, I'm afraid it has been dislocated. You'd better come with me to first aid."

"But… I can't leave this kid with just one officer," the police officer protested. "He's a high-risk escapee."

"I'll help your colleague," Adrian offered. "I don't think Monty's going to try escaping again. He'll probably sleep on the flight anyway."

Adrian was right. By the time we boarded the plane, I was struggling to stay awake. The medic had left Adrian with a syringe filled with a reverser drug, just in case the dose he'd given to me was too much. To avoid disrupting or worrying the rest of the passengers, we were given places at the back of the plane. I was placed in the parking bay closest to the plane's window, to ensure that I would have to ask Adrian if I needed to go to the toilet. I fell asleep before the plane had even begun to taxi.

I awoke about an hour and a half later to find myself still on the plane, flying towards Florida. I whimpered as I glanced around, taking in my surroundings.

"How are you feeling, Monty?" Adrian asked kindly when he saw that I was awake.

"Tired. How far are we from Florida?"

"About an hour. Just relax. Do you need a drink?"

"Yes, please. Ginger beer, if they have any."

Adrian waved down an airhostess, who kindly brought me a bottle of ginger beer. I sipped slowly on it, enjoying the bitter flavour.

"I'm sorry we had to sedate you," Adrian said, trying to start a conversation between us. "I was afraid you'd hurt yourself, or someone else."

"I'm sorry I panicked," I whispered. "I was scared to fly."

"Are you still scared?"

"No… I think I'm too drugged to be scared now."

Adrian chuckled softly. "Fair enough. Don't worry. We'll be landing soon."

"Will that other police officer be okay?"

"Who?"

"The police officer. The one that I accidentally hurt."

"As far as I know, he'll be okay. You're a lot stronger than you look. And your acceleration is pretty fast too."

"Four seconds when I really try," I replied shrugging.

Adrian gave me a bemused look, but he kept his thoughts to himself. I resumed sipping on my drink.

…

Several hours later, Adrian and the police officer escorted me, wheel-cuffed, between them down a quiet suburban street in Daytona Beach, Florida. The neighbourhood looked nice and respectable. It was certainly a vast improvement from previous foster homes I'd been in. We turned up a driveway near the end of the street. I shrank back nervously as Adrian rang the doorbell to the house. What was just a modern suburban house to most vehicles looked like a mansion to me. The house had two stories with a grand portico over the front door.

By the time the front door opened, I was almost hiding behind Adrian. A blue and yellow Hummer with logos and writing printed all over him, and a burgundy Nissan Skyline answered the door.

"Mr and Mrs Greenway?" Adrian inquired.

"Yes," the Hummer replied. "You must be Mr Towsky from the CPS."

"That's me."

"Please, come in."

Adrian and the police officer almost had to drag me inside the house. The Greenways escorted us into the lounge room. I was amazed to see that the floor was covered in cream carpet. Nobody else seemed to be concerned by that. They just parked around the coffee table in the centre of the room.

"Mr and Mrs Greenway, this is your new foster child, Montgomery McQueen. I've brought his file with me, so you'll at least have some idea of his history." Adrian reached inside his trunk with his claw arm to remove my file. He placed it down on the coffee table. "He's fourteen years old, and quite feisty. I'm sure you'll have your tyres full with him."

"We know what to expect," Mr Greenway replied confidently. He used his claw arm to open my file, so he could start reading it. "Montgomery will be our third foster child. I'm sure we can turn him around."

"Is there anything special we need to know about him?" Mrs Greenway asked.

"Monty has a history of being a runaway," Adrian answered. "That's why he's been brought here in wheel cuffs. He first started running away from school. His most recent escapade occurred a few weeks ago, when he ran away from his last foster home. He tried to escape from us earlier today before our flight, so we ended up having him sedated."

"He doesn't look sedated," Mr Greenway observed.

"He's a fighter. It took two doses to sedate him."

Mr Greenway whistled softly. "I know a few cars who are like that. Just for my own personal curiosity, what's his ancestry?"

"We don't know," Adrian replied. "He was abandoned by his mother at the hospital where he was born. Nobody has been able to trace her since."

Mr Greenway studied me closely. "Hmm… I can see some GT40 influence in him. And a bit of Dodge too. He'll grow up to be a nice little stock car."

Cringing, I tried to hide below the height of the coffee table. I had no idea why Mr Greenway was so intrigued by my ancestry, but it seemed creepy to me.

"Why don't I show Monty to his room while you gentlemen talk?" Mrs Greenway suggested.

"Good idea," Adrian agreed.

I breathed a small sigh of relief when I felt the wheel cuffs being removed from my wheels. I was too tired to think about trying another escape today, so I willingly followed Mrs Greenway up the ramp that led to the upstairs rooms.

"This will be your room," Mrs Greenway said as she opened the door at the end of the hallway. I followed her into the room. The room was painted white, with wooden floorboards and a large window in the far wall. I was surprised to see that the window had a security grill covering it. I immediately realised that it was there to keep me in, and not as a deterrent for robbers. Near the window was a bed made of a soft woollen mat and several blankets. The room also had a mirror and an air-conditioning unit.

"I hope you'll be comfortable," Mrs Greenway said. "You look tired, so try and have a nap. I'll come and get you when it's time for dinner."

"Thank you," I whispered.

Mrs Greenway smiled as she closed the door behind her. I settled down on the bed for my nap. It didn't take me long to drift off to sleep.

When I awoke, it was dusk. I stretched before I went in search of the bathroom. I found that it was in the room next to mine. After I'd taken care of myself, I drove onto the landing at the top of the ramp. When I peered through the bannister railings, I could see Mr and Mrs Greenway parked at the table in the kitchen, talking quietly together while Mrs Greenway cooked dinner.

"In many ways, I do feel sorry for him," Mrs Greenway was saying. "I mean, just imagine never knowing who your parents are, and you spend your whole life being moved from one foster home to another. Whoever had him as an infant did a good job raising him though. He at least knows good manners."

"I think the reason why he's taken to running away is because he has nothing to ground him," Mr Greenway mused. "There's nothing in his file about him having any hobbies or interests."

"We can ask him about that over dinner. It's almost ready, so I'd better go and wake him."

"I'll go," Mr Greenway offered. "You finish the meal, love."

I decided that I didn't want to be caught eavesdropping, so I darted back into my room and I closed the door. I parked on the mat and pretended to still be asleep. A moment later, I heard a soft knock on the door. I groaned, pretending to have just woken up. Mr Greenway opened the door.

"Monty? Dinner's ready."

I opened my eyes and stretched. "Coming."

Mr Greenway led the way downstairs to the kitchen, where Mrs Greenway was just finishing putting our dinner on the table. I hung back in the doorway until Mr Greenway gestured with his tyre for me to park at the table on his left.

"So, Monty," Mrs Greenway began as we started eating. "I think we should start as we mean to go on by laying down the ground rules."

I groaned internally. I knew to expect a new list of rules whenever I moved to a new foster home.

"First of all, we'd like you to address us as Aunt Sarah and Uncle Alan."

I looked up at her, surprised. Normally, my foster parents preferred it if I called them by their first name only.

Uncle Alan cleared his throat. "You need to know that you have to earn privileges in this house. Only good behaviour will be rewarded. Bad behaviour will result in privileges being removed from you. Privileges include use of the TV, computer and game consoles, as well as being able to earn pocket money, attend parties or stay up late. You also have a curfew of nine p.m., and you must be in bed with the lights off by ten p.m. every night. We will always ensure that you have access to good food, fuel and a warm bed, but access to anything else is entirely up to you."

"Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself?" Aunt Sarah suggested.

"What do you want to know?"

"I'd like to know why you've earned a reputation for being a runaway. I can understand why you ran away from your last foster home, but why did you run away from school so many times?"

"Was it because you were bored?" Uncle Alan asked.

"Kind of…" I replied thoughtfully. "I didn't really understand most of it. My teachers didn't explain things well, and my foster parents rarely helped me with my homework. So, I never did it."

My new foster parents exchanged glances. Then, Uncle Alan looked sternly at me.

"That's going to stop right now. We've already enrolled you in a private school, which has a high level of security. You won't be able to run away from there, no matter how hard you try. However, if you behave yourself at school, we'll hire a private tutor to help you with your studies after school."

"We don't think you're stupid or anything like that," Aunt Sarah added quickly. "You've just been let down by the foster care system. It's not your fault at all, but you need to start growing up and taking responsibility for your own actions."

"Do you understand what we're saying?" Uncle Alan asked sternly.

I nodded. This couple were unlike any other foster parents I'd ever had. They were prepared to help me, providing I changed my ways. They were giving me the opportunity to have a completely fresh start.

"There is one more thing," Aunt Sarah said. "You'll have to get a new paint job before you start school. If we're going to give you a fresh start, you need to completely remove your 'bad boy' look. I'll take you to our body detailer tomorrow morning, so think about what colour you'd like."

I frowned thoughtfully. I'd been painted black for as long as I could remember, so I had no idea if any other colour would look good on me.

After we'd finished dinner, Aunt Sarah sent me upstairs to shower and go to bed. It wasn't late in the evening, but since I had nothing better to do, I obeyed.


	5. Chapter 5 - Changes

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Pixar. All OCs belong to me. **

Chapter 4 - Changes

When I awoke the following morning, I felt a bit disorientated at first. Then, I remembered where I was and what had happened to me the day before. I was in a new foster home far away from everything and everyone I knew.

A knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts. "Monty?" Aunt Sarah called. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," I replied. I drove across the room and I opened the door. Aunt Sarah was parked in the hallway directly in front of the doorway. "Sorry if I overslept."

"No need to apologise. But this is the last time you'll be allowed to sleep in. Wash your face, and then come downstairs for breakfast."

I nodded before I drove into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I drove into the kitchen, where Aunt Sarah was just finishing serving up my breakfast for me. I parked at the same place at the table that I'd been at for dinner the night before. A can of oil had already been placed there for me, so I took a sip from it.

Aunt Sarah placed a plate of buttered pancakes down in front of me. "Alan has already left for work, so it's just the two of us here today. Normally, I'd be at work today too, but I knew you'd need someone around to help you settle in, so I took the day off work. Tomorrow, you'll go with Alan to work, and the day after that, you'll start school."

"Do I have to go to school?" I asked, pouting.

Instead of replying, Aunt Sarah cast me a stern glare. I dropped my gaze and I hastily began eating my pancakes. After a few moments of silence between us, I spoke up. "Am I still going to get a new coat of paint today?"

"Yes, you are."

"Oh. Because, I can't remember being any colour other than black."

"Don't worry. Our body detailer is fantastic. He'll be able to help you select a new colour."

Despite Aunt Sarah's assurances, I was a bundle of nerves by the time we arrived at the body detailer's shop. She introduced me to her body detailer; an Italian forklift named Tony, who would take care of my new paintjob.

"So, this is-a your new foster child, huh?" Tony asked Aunt Sarah as he drove around me. I could feel Tony's eyes studying every inch of my body. His scrutiny made me feel very self-conscious.

"Yes. He arrived here yesterday."

"I see. What-a colour did you-a have in mind for him?"

"Anything but black," Aunt Sarah replied firmly. "He said that he's never been any other colour, so if you could please pick out something that you think would suit him…"

"I will-a do my best!" Tony promised. He pointed to a colour chart on the wall across the room. "I'm-a thinking of something-a bright and bold! How about canary yellow?"

I grimaced and shook my front. "No! That's way too bright!"

Aunt Sarah nudged me. "Do you mind? Alan is half-painted that colour."

"I wouldn't be able to hide from the cops if I was that colour," I muttered.

Tony glanced at me again before he pointed to another colour on the chart. "What about periwinkle blue?"

"Ew! That's such a girly colour!" I protested. Seeing the perplexed frown on Tony's face, I drove closer to the colour chart. With a front tyre, I pointed to a bright shade of red. "I like that colour."

"Rosso corsa?" Tony said with surprise. "But-a…you're not Italian!"

I shrugged my tyres. "I don't care. I like that colour."

Tony glanced at Aunt Sarah. I didn't see her reaction because I had my rear facing towards her, but she must have approved of my choice, because Tony escorted me into the preparation room.

Because my black paint was in such terrible condition, Tony decided to remove it instead of painting over it. He covered my tyres with plastic before he set to work. It wasn't easy for me to stay still while he scraped off my old paint, but I managed it.

"Hmm…" Tony mused when he was halfway through removing my paint. "It-s seems that-a you weren't always black."

"Huh?"

Tony showed me some flakes of my old paint. Beneath the layer of black, there was a layer of glossy navy-blue plaint. I stared at it, stunned. Glossy paint was very expensive. Someone had obviously cared very much about me a long time ago.

"I…I don't remember ever being that colour."

"I suspect that-a you must have-a been that-a colour as a baby," Tony explained. "It doesn't-a cover your whole body, so you must have-a outgrown it."

Tony resumed his work, scraping the paint off me. I continued staring at the paint flakes as questions raced through my mind. _Who picked that colour for me? Was it my first foster parents or was it someone at the hospital I'd been born at? I seriously doubt that it had been my mother. I was told that she'd abandoned me within hours of giving birth to me. I know that the last thing she would have been thinking about was what colour I should be. _

Once Tony had finished removing my old paint from me, he started preparing the paint booth. I rolled over to the large mirror in the room, and I stared at myself. My bare metal skin gleamed under the room's spotlights. I sighed despondently as a haunting question leapt into my mind – _Who am I? I know my mother named me, but since I have no idea who she is, or if she's even alive, maybe it's time for me to find a new identity? Aunt Sarah is right. It's time for me to ditch my bad-boy image and start over. _

"Okay, Monty!" Tony called, startling me. I yelped as I jumped and spun around. Tony chuckled. "Sorry! Didn't-a mean to-a scare you."

"It's okay," I replied sheepishly. "I was already nervous."

"I don't-a see why?" Tony mused. I drove into the painting booth, and Tony closed the door. "Close-a your eyes, and-a relax!" he instructed.

I followed Tony's instructions as best I could. I focussed on my breathing to help me relax. Tony started spraying a pink undercoat on me. I was grateful that he'd thought to warm the paint.

It took about an hour for my new paintjob to be finished and dried. Tony ended the process by giving me a lovely wax and polish. I'd never had that treatment before, but I loved it. By the time Tony had finished, I was more relaxed than I could ever remember being. At Tony's invitation, Aunt Sarah drove into the room.

"Oh, that looks amazing on him!" she exclaimed with immediate approval. "You've out-done yourself again, Tony!"

Tony grinned. "I'm-a so glad you approve, madam. Now-a, would you-a like to-a pay today, or put it on-a your account?"

"I'll pay today," Aunt Sarah said. "I'll also pay off some of my account."

While Tony and Aunt Sarah went to the front of house to sort out payment, I rolled back over to the mirror. What I saw astonished me. I looked so completely different, that I doubted anyone I knew would recognise me.

…

Later that afternoon, Aunt Sarah and I were back home, after we'd spent most of the day shopping. I hadn't asked for anything for myself, since Aunt Sarah loved shopping in expensive places that I was almost too scared to enter. It made me wonder what my foster parents did for a living.

I timidly drove into the kitchen, where Aunt Sarah was clearing out the dishwasher. "May I help you with that?" I asked.

Aunt Sarah was so surprised, she almost dropped a plate. "Sure! Can you stack these plate in that cupboard, please?"

I started doing so. "Aunt Sarah?"

"Yes?"

"What do you and Uncle Alan do for work?"

"I'm a paediatrician at the Halifax Health Medical Centre."

"What's a paediatrician?"

"I'm a doctor who specialises in the care of children and teenagers."

Now it was my turn to almost drop a plate. "You…you're a doctor?" I was already starting to hyperventilate.

Aunt Sarah took the plate from my claw arm, and she placed it on the bench. "I know you're scared of doctors, Monty," she said gently. "It was in your file. And I don't blame you for being scared, considering how you were treated by doctors in the past. However, it's time for you to face your fears. I promise that, as far as your health goes, I won't do anything to you myself unless I have no other choice. I have my own personal physician who can take care of you too. Obviously, I'll keep an eye on your health, but I won't be the one to give you any vaccinations. I don't want you to be afraid of me."

My breathing had already started to slow down. Feeling my strength returning to me, I picked up the plate off the bench. "Thank you… I-I appreciate that. And, Uncle Alan?"

"He's a NASCAR official at Daytona Speedway."

_CRASH! _

I cringed when I saw the shattered plate shards scatter across the floor in front of me. "Sorry! I forgot I was holding that!"

To my surprise, Aunt Sarah burst into laughter. "It's okay, Monty. No harm done. Are you interested in NASCAR at all?"

"Interested? I f***ing love it!" I squealed.

"MONTGOMERY ALEXANDER MCQUEEN! DON'T YOU EVER USE THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE IN THIS HOUSE AGAIN!"

At that precise moment, Uncle Alan arrived home. Hearing the commotion, he drove straight into the kitchen. "What happened?"

Tears pricked my eyes. Aunt Sarah's shouting had frightened me, leaving me shaken. I was fully expecting to be slapped or spanked. However, instead of doing either, Aunt Sarah took a deep breath to calm herself before she told her husband everything that had happened in the past few minutes. Uncle Alan was frowning sternly at me by the time she'd finished.

"I'm sorry I swore!" I squeaked in a panic. "It just…came out!"

"Go to your room, Monty," Uncle Alan said. "You'll stay there until I come for you."

Sobbing, I obeyed. I was tempted to slam the bedroom door closed, but I was more ashamed than angry. Things had been going so well for me today, and I'd just gone and ruined it. Feeling absolutely disgusted with myself, I flopped down on my chassis on my bed, and I let my tears flow.

About an hour later, I was still lying miserably on my bed, when I heard a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," I whispered just loudly enough to be heard. The door opened, and Uncle Alan entered my room. He closed the door behind him.

"You look good in that shade of red," Uncle Alan began. When I didn't react, he parked alongside me. "You seem to have done a good job beating yourself up, since you're obviously still moping."

"I didn't mean to swear…"

"So, you know it's wrong to swear?"

"I know I shouldn't do it in front of women…" I sighed despondently.

Uncle Alan chuckled. "In my line of work, I hear swearing a lot. Sarah's a real lady. She won't accept swearing from anyone, including me. Took about five years into our marriage for me to learn to leave my swearing at the track."

I finally looked up at him. "Are you really a NASCAR official?"

"Yes. Can't you tell from my paintwork?"

"I thought I'd seen it somewhere. Have you ever met any of the Piston Cup racers?"

"Often. I'm a review official at Daytona Speedway. My job is to review incident footage and apply appropriate punishments to the racers. I also attend post-race inquiries. It's not an easy job, because if you get it wrong, you become the scapegoat. I do enjoy it though. There's always something exciting happening."

"Do races happen around here a lot? Because, I thought the Piston Cup racers go all around the country?"

"The major series', like the Piston Cup, do. But there are a lot of smaller racing series that take place at the same track all year round. In fact, there's a vintage series race happening at Daytona Speedway tomorrow. I'll be happy to show you a lot more tomorrow, since you'll be spending the day with me there anyway."

"Really?" I squealed excitedly. I started bouncing up and down on my springs.

Uncle Alan frowned thoughtfully. "When did your voice start breaking?"

I settled down on my bed again. "What does that mean?"

"Your squeaky voice. When did that start?"

"I'm not really sure… I think it started when I was staying in the youth care home. Is something wrong with me?"

"No. It's just part of male adolescence. Your voice is starting to deepen. Try not to talk when you get excited. You don't want to strain your voice box by squeaking too much."

"Oh. Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for. I'm just giving you advice. Now, since you've already apologised to Sarah for swearing, your punishment is over. Go and wash up for dinner. I'll see you downstairs."

Uncle Alan started to drive towards the doorway.

"Uncle Alan?"

He paused and turned to face me. "Yes?"

"Thanks for the chat. I've never been given the opportunity to have a fresh start, so I really want to do my best to change."

Smiling, Uncle Alan drove over to me, and he gently nudged my cheek with his front right tyre. "I'm so glad to hear you say that. I know that foster kids are rebellious because, deep down, they're hurting. You're different. You've never known the love that a real family can give you, so you've grown up exceptionally fast. Our task with you now is to teach you how to be a kid again, while you still have some of your childhood left."

I didn't know what to say in response to that, so I just nodded. My new foster parents were everything a child would ever want from their parents. However, their behaviour was so foreign to me, that I didn't know how to react. Still smiling, Uncle Alan left my room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Pixar. All OCs belong to me. **

Chapter 5 – A Day to Remember

I was up early the following morning, because I was so excited to spend all day at Daytona Speedway with Uncle Alan. Had he been my real father, I probably would've pounce on him to wake him up. As it was, I anxiously paced the floor of my room until I heard Uncle Alan and Aunt Sarah leaving theirs.

"What time do we leave?" I asked as I burst out of my room. I nearly collided with my foster parents in the hallway.

"Good morning to your too, Monty," Aunt Sarah muttered sleepily.

Uncle Alan chuckled. "Don't mind her, Monty. Sarah's not herself until she's had her morning cup of coffee. We'll leave in an hour. Go and have a shower, and then join us downstairs for breakfast."

I spun around much too fast. CRASH!

Uncle Alan cringed when he saw me accidentally collide mouth-first with the bathroom doorframe. Then, he rolled his eyes and shook his front.

"You're going to be a tyre-full today, aren't you?"

I grinned sheepishly before I drove into the bathroom.

…

Just over an hour later, Uncle Alan and I left the house to head off to Daytona Speedway. Aunt Sarah had already left for her job at the health centre, so Uncle Alan locked the house. I did my best to contain my excitement as we headed downtown.

When we arrived, a security guard waved us through one of the entrance gates near turn one. I timidly followed Uncle Alan through the turn one tunnel just as a couple of racers rumbled along the racetrack overhead. The roar of their engines echoed all through the tunnel.

"Have the races started already?" I wondered.

"Not yet," Uncle Alan replied. "They're just practicing. The race doesn't start until later this afternoon."

I squinted as we re-emerged from the tunnel. The early morning sunlight hit me full in the eyes. Uncle Alan led the way over to the closest garages, where numerous teams were gathered. I followed him down the garages until we reached one near the end of the first row.

"Kyle?" Uncle Alan called from outside the garage.

My jaw nearly hit the ground when I saw none other than Kyle Petty emerge from the garage.

"Morning Alan," Kyle greeted him. "What can I do for you?" He gestured towards me. "Who's the kid?"

"This is my new foster son, Monty McQueen," Uncle Alan replied. "Since you're not racing today, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind keeping an eye on him while I'm working?"

"Of course! I'll be happy to do that for you. Come over here, kid. We'll take care of you. How old are you, Monty?"

"Fourteen," I whispered. I was still stunned to be parked directly in front of a real racing legend.

Seeing that I would be okay, Uncle Alan left us. Kyle began studying me, just like Uncle Alan had when we'd first met.

"You look like you could burn some rubber," Kyle remarked. "What's your top speed?"

"I'm not sure. My speedometer goes up to two hundred, but I've never gone that fast."

Kyle smirked. "Would you like to?"

My jaw dropped again. I was too stunned to speak. Kyle chuckled before he drove back inside the garage. I followed him.

"Hey, Mark?"

A 1981 BMW M1 decked out in Petty Enterprises livery drove over to us. "Yes, sir?"

"Mark, this is Monty," Kyle said, introducing us. "Monty, this is Mark. He was a foster kid with the Greenways too, so that makes you foster brothers."

"Nice to meet you, Monty. Is this your first time at the track?"

I nodded. Mark smiled kindly.

"Don't worry. I know this might be rather overwhelming to you now, but you'll get used to it. You see, Uncle Alan's method of helping foster kids is to get them involved in racing. It did me a heck of a lot of good though, I can tell you! If it wasn't for Uncle Alan and racing, I'd probably be in prison by now. I'm so grateful to Kyle for giving me a chance to work for him."

"One of the best decisions I've ever made," Kyle muttered. Then, he said in a louder voice, "What do you think Monty could be, Mark?"

Mark frowned thoughtfully as he studied me. "How old is he?"

"Fourteen."

"He's rather small for his age… But that could be an advantage in sprint racing."

_Wait a minute? Sprint racing? _

"Exactly what I'm thinking," Kyle said. "Kid, do you have any idea who your parents were?"

"No. I was abandoned as a baby."

"That sounds like something a racer would do. Why don't we fit him out with a tailfin and some slicks and see how he goes?"

"I'm on it!" Mark replied eagerly. He drove away towards the back of the garage.

"Isn't…there a race going on today?" I asked.

"That doesn't start until after lunch," Kyle explained. "The track is open to practice sessions all morning."

"Do…do you think that I could become a racer?"

Kyle smiled. "We'll see. I know talent when I see it. You have the right build to be a racer. I'll talk to Alan about doing a DNA test on you. See if we can find out if you have a racer as an ancestor."

"Ya coming, Monty?" Mark called.

Timidly, I drove towards the back of the garage. Mark held up a child-sized tailfin with his claw arm.

"This might be a little bit small for you, but it'll do for now. I'll just get a couple of the boys to bolt it onto you."

"Will it hurt?" I asked anxiously.

"Not really. You might find it a bit weird at first though. Just relax, kid. We know what we're doing."

Half an hour later, I was all kitted out and ready to go onto the racetrack for the very first time. Mark was just finishing installing a temporary radio system in my engine bay, when Kyle approached us.

"Is he ready to go, Mark?"

Mark gently closed my hood. "Yup! You know what? He's got a nice little V8 engine in there."

Kyle smiled. "Good. Because I've asked Jeff Green to be Monty's pacesetter. If he can keep up with Jeff…" Kyle let the sentence hang.

I gulped nervously. Jeff Green was a champion racer in the second tier series. While I'd never had the opportunity to watch him race, I'd read that he liked to race hard and fast.

"Follow me, kid," Kyle instructed.

I did so. As I followed Kyle over to pit row, it suddenly occurred to me that if Kyle was willing to pitch me against a racing champion for my very first time on a racetrack, he was either trying to dissuade me from racing, or he was trying to inspire me.

Jeff Green was already waiting for us by the time we arrived in the pits. This time, I managed to stop my jaw from hitting the ground. I seriously doubted that Jeff would go easy on me.

"Jeff, this is Monty," Kyle said, introducing us. "As I said to you earlier, I'd just like to see how much speed he has. Racing skills can be taught; speed cannot be taught, as you well know."

Jeff eyed me critically. "You say this kid has never raced before?"

"That's what he says. I'm just hoping that I may have found a potential rookie for next year's Junior Cup series."

"Well, I'm more than happy to give the kid a few laps. Are you ready to go, kid?"

"Yes, sir!" I replied enthusiastically.

Kyle pulled on a headset. "Radio check. Can you hear me, Monty?"

"Yes," I replied. The radio's speakers were mounted in the far corners of my engine bay, right near the hinges, so they were very close to my ears.

Jeff revved his engine loudly before he drove out of the pits. I followed him closely.

"Okay, Monty," Kyle said over the radio. "I want you to try and stay as close to Jeff's rear bumper as you can for now."

"Okay…"

Jeff accelerated up to a hundred miles per hour. I managed to keep pace with him, despite not being used to driving at such an odd angle produced by the steep banking. I could also feel a lot of downforce being produced with the aid of the tailfin.

"Monty, I've just told Jeff to speed up to a hundred and twenty," Kyle told me. "Do you best to stay with him."

I narrowed my eyes against the stinging wind as I accelerated after Jeff. Then, as we tore down the back straight, something inside my mind seemed to click onto the fact that I was actually racing on a proper NASCAR racetrack behind one of America's fastest racers. A grin spread across my face as I felt my adrenaline levels shoot up.

Shifting up a gear, I started to move to the outside of the track as we entered turn three. Jeff must have sensed that I was about to try and make a move on him, because he also drifted to the outside to block me. However, as soon as I saw him move out, I cut sharply to the left, dropping down to the inside line of the track. Before Jeff could react, I'd drawn up alongside him.

"Not bad, kid!" Jeff praised. "But you still need to keep up with me!"

Jeff accelerated again, and he dropped back down in front of me. I tried to stay with him, but I started to hear a strange whining noise coming from my engine.

"Kyle, my engine has started making a whining sound," I reported.

"Slow down and come into the pits immediately," Kyle instructed. "It sounds like you may have strained your engine a bit."

I did as I was told. By the time I arrived back in the pits, Mark had arrived. He immediately opened my hood to examine my engine.

"I don't think he's done any damage," Mark said a few minutes later as he closed my hood. "He's just unfit for high speeds, like most junior racers."

Kyle nodded. "Come and get a drink, Monty. You look like you could use one."

"Thanks. I really enjoyed that!"

"You'll probably feel pretty sore and sorry for yourself tomorrow," Mark said as the three of us drove back to the garage. "Make sure you have a nice hot shower when you get home and keep moving around. You won't stiffen up so much if you do."

"I'll try to remember that, thanks Mark."

I had almost finished my drink, when Jeff drove into the garage. He smiled when he saw me. "Hey, kid! Are you okay? What happened out there?"

"He's just unfit for high speeds, so we called it a day," Kyle explained. "How do you think he went, Jeff?"

"I think he has a lot of potential, in the right tyres. Did you tell him to try and overtake me?"

Kyle shook his front. "Nah. That was all his doing."

Jeff grinned. "Nice! I'm going to have to watch out in a few years if he starts coming up through the ranks." He gave my front left-hand fender a friendly thump with his tyre. "See you around, kid."

"Thanks for helping me, Jeff!" I called as he drove away.

"Anytime, kid!"

…

I spent the rest of the morning hanging out in the garages. Kyle introduced me to so many cars that by lunchtime, my brain was spinning. After lunch, Kyle escorted me over to pit row again, only this time, he gave me a headset to wear.

"I want you to listen in on the radio during the race," Kyle said. "Watching how other cars race is always beneficial."

I merely nodded in understanding. Kyle tuned the headset to the correct channel for me, and then I went and parked in a comfortable spot where I could see most of the track.

The race went well, with Kyle's racer coming in fifth. Afterwards, when it was quieter, I went in search of Uncle Alan. I found him just as he was emerging from the stewards' room.

"Hey! There you are, Monty. I just need to file my paperwork, and then we can go home. Did you have a good day with Kyle?"

"Yes, thank you. He asked me to give you this." I passed over a set of staples papers. Uncle Alan frowned thoughtfully when he saw what the papers were for.

"Hmm… It seems that Kyle wants to sign you up as a rookie for next year's Junior Cup series."

"He thinks that one of my parents was a racer," I explained as we drove back through the tunnel. "He wants me to do a DNA test to find out who it was."

"I've been thinking the same thing," Uncle Alan confessed. "However, I'm sure you must be aware by now that as a foster kid, legally you aren't allowed to find out who your parents are."

"I know… But, if I was a racer, and my parents' drug or blood tests results are on file, what's to stop anyone doing a DNA test to find out?"

Uncle Alan paused and he turned to look at me. "You honestly have no idea just how smart you are! Come on. We can discuss this more when we get home." He smiled when he saw me yawn. "I saw you doing some laps. You're going to sleep like a rock tonight!"

_No kidding! In fact, I'll probably sleep for a week! _


End file.
